


call it a hunch

by deletable_bird



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Smut, chiropractors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:04:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10083692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/pseuds/deletable_bird
Summary: The first time Dan brings up posture, Phil is hunched over his laptop and feels rather as if he’s been caught in the act.Fluff/humor/smut, 3.7k





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noogaloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noogaloo/gifts).



> For the benefit of the reader: this fic’s working title was “better get that back straight (because they’re not *airhorns*)” Needless to say, that was discarded.
> 
> beta'ed by the ever-wonderful [Laney](https://twitter.com/oftenoverlaps)
> 
> Also, happy early birthday Nikki!

The first time Dan brings up posture, Phil is hunched over his laptop, the shape of his spine frighteningly reminiscent of a half moon, and feels rather as if he’s been caught in the act.

“Hey, Phil,” he says. The tone of his voice makes Phil actually look up, as opposed to his usual response of a generic, wordless noise.

“What’s up?” asks Phil, raising his eyebrows. Dan doesn’t look up from his phone, but stands up and crosses the room to sit down beside him instead.

“How do you feel about chiropractors?” he asks. Phil straightens up at the sound of the word and promptly winces as his back cracks loudly, three times in quick succession. Dan gives him a look.

“Everybody’s back cracks, Dan,” scoffs Phil, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t need to get punched into alignment just because I slouch sometimes.”

“Sometimes is an understatement,” Dan shoots back. “Look at this.”

Phil takes the phone and does as he’s told.

“Where the hell did you find this?” he asks once he’s read all the way through the article. Dan waves his comment away.

“You come upon some weird things at four AM,” he replies.

“This is like the time you woke me up to tell me that swans can be gay,” Phil half-laughs, giving him a mildly incredulous look.

“Don’t speak to me about my past, I’m a different person now,” Dan says, swatting his shoulder. “Anyway. What do you think?”

“It’s very,” says Phil, “thorough.”

“And _true_ ,” says Dan, nudging Phil’s knee with his own. “Chiropractor. You should go.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Phil replies, meeting Dan’s eyes and smiling a little bit. Dan’s brows are pinched, and he looks genuinely worried.

“Dan,” he says, very eloquently, and puts his hands purposefully on either side of Dan’s face.

“I just don’t want you, like, telescoping without warning,” Dan says. Phil knows that tone of voice, a little defensive, a lot concerned. All fond.

“I’m pretty sure that’s physically impossible,” he says, tugging Dan in so he can plant a kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Your mum’s physically impossible,” Dan replies, reaching up and gripping both of Phil’s wrists.

“You suck,” Phil retorts.

“And you swallow,” Dan shoots right back.

“You got me there,” Phil grins. Dan makes a teasing, scandalised noise and Phil kisses him properly to shut him up.

“What if I withheld sex until you go get your back kicked back into place?” Dan asks when they break apart. Phil sits up, the space between them increasing.

“I might have to take drastic measures,” he replies, prodding Dan in the stomach. Getting to witness Dan letting out a burst of laughter and twisting away is well worth it.

“I’d like to see you try,” Dan replies once he’s recovered, poking Phil right back.

“Oh, you wanna go mate?” Phil challenges, missing Dan’s stomach on his next attempt and ending up countering an onslaught of pointer fingers. 

“Sure, I’ll go,” Dan says, backing off after a moment or two and winking exaggeratedly. “Anywhere you like.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “Get out of my sight.”

Dan bounces up off the couch and makes his way cheerfully over to the doorframe, pausing just to get the last word in before he disappears. “Go get your back fixed!”

* * *

The second time posture talk makes an appearance, Phil is leaning against the counter in the kitchen at 2am with a box of Crunchy Nut in his hands and there’s no question about being caught in the act.

The iPhone camera shutter sound breaks the silence, and Phil’s head snaps up. Dan is peering over the top of his phone, just visible around the kitchen doorframe, looking a bit like a puppy that’s been spotted doing something it’s not allowed to do. 

Phil raises his eyebrows, and Dan stumbles fully into the doorway, blinking in the light. It takes a moment before his eyes focus on Phil.

“Is that my cereal?” he asks, squinting. Phil sets the box down guiltily.

“ _God_ ,” says Dan, trudging across the room and snatching the box away. “You’re awful.”

He’s blurred with sleep, shoulders relaxed and hair a fuzzy mess. Phil reaches out and tugs at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Why were you taking pictures of me?” he asks, wrapping his arms around Dan’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “You already exposed my cereal habit.”

Dan squirms against him. “No reason,” he says, stretching to put the Crunchy Nut on the counter as far away from them as he can. Phil can tell instantly he’s fibbing.

“Let me see,” he insists, letting go of Dan’s waist with one arm to try and steal the phone in his hand. Dan chuckles deep in his chest and holds it out in front of him, just far enough that Phil can’t reach it.

“Nooo,” Phil whines, both arms returning to Dan’s waist as he buries his face in the side of Dan’s neck. Dan squeaks.

“Why is your nose so goddamn cold?” he murmurs, turning so his cheek is against Phil’s forehead. Phil can feel his lips moving.

“Because you won’t show me the pictures you took of me,” retorts Phil. Dan snorts and presses the phone into Phil’s hand.

“That’s completely illogical, but if you insist. Take a look,” he says. Phil unlocks it―he knows Dan’s passcode by heart―and opens the camera roll.

“It’s literally just me,” he says, bemused, shifting his chin on Dan’s shoulder. It’s quite literally just that, a slightly blurry picture of his profile, eyes fixed on the interior of the box of Crunchy Nut in his hands. Dan takes the phone from him and zooms in.

“Look at that,” he says, thumb tracing the curve from the crown of Phil’s head to the middle of his back. “Have you ever seen something that screams forward head posture more than that?”

Phil laughs, laying a kiss on the side of Dan’s neck. The sharp inhale that it elicits makes his stomach flip. “You’re getting very invested in this.”

“If by this you mean your well-being,” Dan returns, one hand coming up and finding a place in Phil’s hair. Phil grins against his neck.

“I’m fine,” he says. “I promise. It’s just posture.”

“ _Just posture_ ,” Dan mocks. Phil picks his chin up and spins around so they’re face to face. Dan’s glaring at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. If it really matters to you that much, then maybe I will go to a chiropractor.”

“I’d like to remind you of my ability to withhold sex,” Dan snarks, hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

“I’d like to remind you of that time you got a little _too_ excited while we were making out in 2009,” Phil shoots back, squeezing his waist briefly. “With a sexual history like that, I can see why you might want―”

“ _Fuck_ you!” Dan yelps, pushing them apart. Phil bursts into laughter.

“Just you wait,” Dan tosses over his shoulder, flouncing towards the hallway. “I can withhold whatever I want. Next time you want some, wanna guess where I’ll be?”

“Under me,” Phil grins, winking.

Dan flips him the bird.

* * *

The third time that the state of Phil’s spine stars in one of their conversations, it’s only a few days after the nonconsensual 2am photoshoot and happens without warning. He’s sat on the sofa, fleshing out a video idea on a scrap piece of paper, and Dan comes up behind him, leaning over the back of the sofa and prodding none too gently just below the nape of his neck.

“Sit up straight,” he says briskly.

Phil swats vaguely at the space where his hand was. “Tomorrow,” he replies noncommittally. Dan scoffs and pokes Phil again, even harder, in the same place.

“Go see a chiropractor, then,” he retorts before turning away, and Phil looks after him, exasperated.

“If you set the appointment up then I’ll go,” he says, and Dan stops dead, turning back around to look at him.

“Are you kidding?”

“Not at all,” Phil replies, looking back at his paper. When the silence that follows lasts more than three seconds, he looks back and finds Dan doing a happy dance that simultaneously fills the categories of most stupid and most adorable things that Phil’s witnessed in the last three years.

“You absolute moron,” he says, and Dan looks up at him, grinning ear to ear.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” he says breathlessly, dashing over, taking Phil’s face in both hands, and kissing him clumsily on the mouth.

“You’re still a moron,” Phil tells him. Dan ignores him in favor of diving for the coffee table, upon which rests his laptop.

“I’ve had some of these websites bookmarked for _so_ long, Phil, you wouldn’t believe,” he says, collapsing onto the sofa beside Phil with the computer cradled in his lap.

“I think I would believe,” Phil says, abandoning his video idea for the time being and standing up. His back cracks audibly.

Dan looks up, smirking, very obviously on the verge of saying something along the lines of _I told you so_. Phil holds up a finger before he can make a noise.

“Don’t even start,” he threatens. Dan gives him the widest smile that he’s seen in a long time and turns back to his computer.

* * *

A week later, with forty-five minutes left before Phil is supposed to be having his joints bullied back into their correct placement, the door is open and he’s halfway out of it when Dan stops him.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks, fiddling with the hems of his sleeves. Phil stops, shuts the door, and turns back around.

“I mean,” Dan bursts out defensively, before Phil can make a sound. “I just don’t want you to get hurt at all. It might be better if I come with you? Just to make sure―”

“Daniel,” says Phil. Dan shuts up.

“Okay,” he says after a moment or two, pausing and biting his lip before reaching out with pajama-clad arms. “Give me a hug so I have some recent touch memory of you to treasure when you get your spine snapped in half and die a tragic, paralysed early death.”

“It’s literally just posture,” Phil tells him, allowing himself to be pulled in and embraced a bit more vigorously than the situation really warrants.

“Shut up.” Dan’s mouth is pressed against his ear, the shape of his words not only audible but present on Phil’s skin.

“I’ll try my hardest not to let a trained professional break my spine,” Phil replies, squeezing him briefly before letting him go.

Dan shoves him towards the door. “Get out of my house,” he says, as Phil pulls it back open.

Phil tosses a grin over his shoulder. “If you insist,” he shoots back. Dan grins and shuts the door behind him.

* * *

Phil walks into his appointment feeling like his regular self, a little stiff and plagued with back pain, and walks out feeling like a phoenix has shed tears over his entire body. The entire taxi ride home, he doesn’t look at his phone once. He’s too taken with how much different sitting up straight feels now.

The second he pushes the door open, Dan comes barrelling at him like a puppy with separation anxiety. “How do you feel?” he asks urgently, skidding to a halt and looking Phil up and down.

“Like a new man,” Phil tells him, shedding his coat and reaching out towards Dan.

Dan exhales shakily. “Oh my God,” he breathes out, his hands landing on Phil’s wrists and skimming up to his shoulders. “Okay. Okay.”

“You okay?” Phil asks, tugging him closer. Dan makes a surprised sound that melts into a giggle. His smile wavers, but it’s there.

“I’m fine,” he says, fingertips tickling the nape of Phil’s neck and pushing upwards into the buzzed hair there. “I’m just―you know me. Overthinker of the century.”

“I can’t believe you,” Phil snorts, shaking his head. “You’re the one who scheduled the bloody thing.”

“I think you should be quiet,” Dan says earnestly, giving him a patronising look. Phil grins, letting one of his hands wander absently up the back of Dan’s shirt.

“No, I literally can’t believe you,” he continues, a smile growing on his face. “You think I’m going to take your word for you being okay without checking myself to see if you really are?”

Dan’s left hand comes around, cupping his jaw. The barely-calloused pad of his thumb briefly tugs Phil’s lower lip down. “You want to check me?” He pauses, smirks exaggeratedly. “Pray tell, where?”

“ _All over_ ,” Dan mock-growls as Phil digs his fingers into the soft curve of Dan’s hip. Dan gasps and giggles again.

“In fact, I think you’re well overdue for a checkup from _Doctor Philip_ ,” he continues, Phil’s hand sliding down, over the curve of Dan’s arse. Dan arches into the contact, biting his lip.

“How do I know I can trust you?” he says, all breathless and whimpery. Phil knows very well that it’s a joke, but he can’t help the way his stomach flips at the hitch in Dan’s voice. “Are you a trained professional?”

“Oh, I have _lots_ of . . . _experience_ ,” Phil purrs, reaching down without warning and hiking one of Dan’s legs up around his hip. It throws off any semblance of equilibrium they had established, and he lets go immediately, flinging his hand out to stabilise them against the wall and missing it completely.

“ _Jesus fuck_!” Dan squawks, grappling with Phil’s shoulders in attempt to stay upright. Phil starts giggling before they’ve righted themselves, which throws them even more off balance, and in two seconds he’s on top of Dan and they’re flat on the floor.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Dan is saying, “the actual _worst_ ,” and Phil rolls off him, giggling too hard to catch his breath. Dan follows him, propping himself up on an elbow and looking down at Phil with his eyes shining.

“I feel so much better though,” Phil says, breathless, and Dan’s expression goes from amused to something a little more reminiscent of hopelessly in love. He leans down to kiss Phil, the arm he’s not leaning on resting warm across Phil’s stomach.

Phil reaches up, fingers settling themselves on the nape of Dan’s neck. He tugs them closer together, catching Dan’s bottom lip between his teeth. He gets a gasp in return, and has to restrain a smile.

The hand that’s resting across his stomach shifts, rucking up his shirt and splaying against his lower stomach. Phil hums into the kiss, letting his hips rock upwards. Dan’s fingers find the button on his jeans.

Phil breaks away, catching his breath. “You really wanna do this on the floor?” he asks. His hips tilt up again, without his permission. Dan grins and tightens his grip on the waistband of Phil’s pants.

“My only aim in life is to preserve your newfound posture, so maybe not,” he murmurs, before rolling away and pushing himself to his feet. “C’mon, bedroom,” he says, holding both hands out.

Phil grins and takes them, and Dan hauls him to his feet and doesn’t let go.

A few years ago, the trek up the stairs to Dan’s room would’ve killed the mood. Now, two months into 2017, it’s nothing and Phil can push Dan down onto his bed and fall on top of him with ease. Dan’s hands find his waist as soon as they’re settled, impatiently tugging his shirt upward.

“Down, boy,” Phil laughs, rolling so he’s on his back in the middle of the bed and beckoning Dan after him. Dan grins and flips over so he’s on all fours, prowling closer until he can swing a leg over Phil’s hips and sit up. He pulls his own shirt off and flings it behind him, winking exaggeratedly.

Phil giggles and lifts his arms above his head, letting Dan get his hands on the hem of his shirt and work it off over his head. The second it’s been discarded somewhere to his left, Dan’s lips are on his clavicle, warm and insistent.

“Someone’s eager,” Phil remarks, sliding one hand up into Dan’s hair and the other south, with full intention of grabbing a handful of Dan’s arse. Before he can do either of those things, the mouth on his collarbone disappears and Dan sits up, balancing with both hands on Phil’s chest.

“It’s been awhile,” he begins, and doesn’t bother finishing, only raises an eyebrow and smirks. Phil gives him a faux-confused look.

“You mean since we’ve gone whole hog?” he asks like he doesn’t know exactly what Dan means.

Dan sighs wearily. “ _Don’t_ refer to anal sex as the whole hog, please and thank you,” he says, and Phil bursts into laughter and rolls them back over, getting his hands on Dan’s fly.

“I know for a fact you’ve heard worse from me,” he says as Dan lifts his arse off the bed so Phil can tug his jeans off. “Remember down for the diddly-do?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dan says, voice muffled as he buries his face in his hands. Phil’s laughter makes a return in full force.

“You love me,” he says, leaning down and pressing an intentionally too-wet kiss to Dan’s shoulder. Dan doesn’t take his hands away from his face.

“There’s lube in the bedside table,” he says despairingly. “Do your worst, you monster.”

“Oh, I will,” Phil shoots back, somehow managing to change his tone almost entirely from bright and full of laughter to dark and velvety, and Dan’s hips roll up against his stomach in response. Phil grins to himself as he scoots up and stretches over to the bedside table.

By the time the first two fingers of his right hand are slick, Dan’s got his boxers off and his hand around his cock. He’s most of the way hard and pumping himself lazily, eyes fixed on Phil in a shockingly feline manner. He doesn’t get that look a lot, and it’s making Phil’s stomach flip.

“C’mere,” he says, and Phil obliges without a second thought. He presses up against Dan’s side, slipping his hand down behind Dan’s balls, and presses his index finger in.

Dan’s eyes flutter closed and he rolls his hips, working himself farther down onto Phil’s finger. Phil waits, lets him get used to it, and only slips his second finger in when Dan says he can.

It takes awhile, but Phil gets up to three fingers and stays still, letting Dan fuck himself on them. He keeps himself occupied by pressing tiny kisses to Dan’s shoulders and keeping quiet so he can listen to the tiny sounds that keep escaping Dan’s mouth. The movements of Dan’s hips against him are more than enough to keep him worked up.

“Okay,” Dan breathes after a minute or two more, and Phil hums against his shoulder, pressing his fingers in briefly to the knuckle before letting them slip out.

“You ready?” he asks, pushing himself to his knees and working at his fly. Dan nods, utterly relaxed and utterly gorgeous. The way he’s watching Phil is still catlike, still enrapturing, and _god_ it has been a while. Monogamy may breed mindless routine, but Phil is more than happy to change it up more often if this is what he gets out of it.

He reaches over and fishes a condom out of the same drawer where they keep the lube, and once it’s on Dan reaches forward with a slick hand, stroking him once, twice before tugging him gently forward.

Phil presses in slowly, carefully, eyes closed because of the intensity of the sensation but listening nevertheless for any sound even remotely resembling discomfort from Dan. He bottoms out easily, though, and pauses there, one hand on Dan’s ribcage, focusing on the deep, steady rhythm of his breath.

“You good?” Dan murmurs into his ear, running his fingertips up Phil’s spine. Phil exhales and rolls his hips back and then forward again. Dan gasps and arches up beneath him.

“Never been better,” he pants, falling into a deep, heavy pace. Dan is beautiful beneath him, working himself farther into a sweat every time he arches up to meet Phil’s movements. His hands are busy, first up at Phil’s shoulders before trailing down to linger for a moment at the small of his back.

Phil pauses after a while and takes the time to press forward slow, deep, and Dan whimpers, digging his fingernails into Phil’s hips. “Fuck,” he pants, “there. Again.”

“Mhm?” Phil breathes, pulling back and pressing in again. Dan lets out a real moan this time, desperate and wanton.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “ _fuck_ , come on, fuck me, make me come―”

Phil whines and obeys, picking up his pace and not slowing down. Dan is urgent underneath him, hands on Phil’s face, tugging him down for a kiss before breaking away to catch his breath and whimper and moan, to touch himself. Phil knows all his cues, knows that when he’s close he tenses and when he’s just about to come he holds his breath and when his orgasm hits him he arches up― just like he does now―before jerking back, sweat-slick skin sliding against Phil’s, stomach contracting again and again and breath rushing out of him in whimpers.

Phil rocks forward desperately and comes with his face buried in Dan’s neck, toes numb with the potency of the feeling. They slow and come down together, pressed against each other, breath falling back into rhythm in sync.

It’s a long time before either of them move. It’s Dan who does first, tapping Phil’s shoulder until he gets the eye contact he’s asking for.

“Thanks for going, you know,” he says, fingers tracing a lazy pattern on Phil’s shoulder blade. “Like, really.”

Phil smiles up at him. “Thanks for bothering me until I did,” he replies, leaning up to kiss Dan’s chin.

“It’s what I do best,” Dan smirks, shifting so he can get his free hand on Phil’s face. He kisses him properly, and doesn’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> read & reblog on [tumblr](http://deletablebird.tumblr.com/post/158003422047/call-it-a-hunch)!


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